


Tectonic Shift

by Drake, Olorisstra



Series: The Old Guard fics the TOG Discord enables me to write [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Hospitaller Nicolo' di Genoa, I would have never had done this without Drake and the Discord, Mention of Death, Pre-Slash, and they stopped killing each other, go love them, mention of dismembering, mention of pillage of a city, period typical islamophobia implied, rated because of the sack of Jerusalem, templars can GF themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olorisstra/pseuds/Olorisstra
Summary: Jerusalem, 1099, night of the 15 of JulyYusuf and Nicolo' during the fall of Jerusalem
Series: The Old Guard fics the TOG Discord enables me to write [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856608
Comments: 23
Kudos: 108





	Tectonic Shift

The invader Yusuf spent the last day and a half fighting and failing to kill is kneeling in front of the Holy Sepulchre. The sword Yusuf has become intimately familiar with, the same one that brought about his own temporary death over and over again, juts out of a nearby body. His shield, painted the same black with a white cross the invader had once worn pristine onto his own body, stays strapped to his arm and held on to tightly.

His words are not familiar, the language an unknown one, but the tone is achingly familiar. It is not hard to recognize a begging man nor one who has lost his way and is pleading to be led back into the fold, to be shown the right way and where it stands. There is wetness, on his cheeks, mixing with blood and revealed by the lights of the fires from the surrounding buildings, and that same blood stains the once white cross on his chest and back, reminiscent and yet darkly different from the red cross on a white field that the armoured bodies around him had wrapped themselves into.

The invader heard him coming.

His head comes up, turning unerringly in Yusuf's direction.

It is an open book of devastation, of horror that has nothing to do with Yusuf and everything to do with the despoiling the invaders decided to visit upon Jerusalem and it's inhabitants, an understanding of just how deep the invading demons had fallen into their own darkness, turning into the beasts they had denied themselves to be. The man is lost, his awareness having stripped any semblance of justification from him.

They look at each other, neither of them moving first, and then a woman's cry echoes from a street to their left, bouncing off the stones and landing between them as violently as a torch upon a vat of oil.

Before Yusuf can react, the invader's head whips around violently, turning away from him, and it is a matter of moments for him to kiss the ground in front of the Holy Sepulchre reverently and push himself up, standing and reaching for his sword, walking away without a look back.

Yusuf scrambles to follow, lost himself, knowing that if the invader is going to cause more harm, the only person who could perhaps stop that unkillable warrior might be himself, just as impossible to stop as the other man is. If the harm the invader chooses to inflict it is not upon Yusuf's people but on his own forces... Yusuf _needs_ to see it, to ascertain with his own eyes the evidence of his unbeatable enemy turning against his own forces, those who ought to have been his allies.

He is not sure what he expected to see happen, either thing both too likely and too unlikely at once, but what he does witness is the man, the invader, getting in between a man and his intended victims, covering them with his shield and saying nothing to even try to dissuade the other man, just stare with burning eyes and a face wiped clean of emotion, a rough order in whatever language it is they share, something that is not Latin, imparted with so much ferocity that the wannabe attacker stumbles back at the sight of the one who was supposed to be his ally and instead looks ready to cut him down where they stand.

Yusuf sees the sight, and nothing makes sense anymore, but then perhaps he's just delirious from smoke and the stench of death. His sword held in his hand and he moves to help, to pull back the victims, to give them safety in something they recognize.

The Christian looks at him, over his shoulder, seeing the movement, but doesn't try to stop or attack Yusuf. Just nods at him and covers his intervention, shielding him as well when the other Knight recovers enough to try and attack Yusuf. Fighting against his own kind to give Yusuf the time and space to lead away the scared family hiding behind him. Yusuf realizes as much when he hears the sound of a blade hitting a shield, and looks over his shoulder because surely that blade was- was aimed at him. And the invader, the one he hasn't managed to kill yet, is the one shielding him. His gaze meets his, shocked and astounded, and then he hurries the family away, bloodied sword clutched tight in his hand.

He can hear one of the Christians yell at the other and more sound of metal against metal but no answer that he can perceive over the sound of the fire and the screams. Whatever happens, it is done by the time he and the family he's leading are spotted again, by a group of Knights this time rather than just the one, drunk on slaughter and frenziedly delighted to find more victims to attack.

Yusuf has a choice to make - does he tell the family to run while he fights and keeps the knights busy, leaving them to their fate after, or hope he can kill them all alone?

Both seem fated to doom.

The Christians, advancing with their weapons already unsheathed, stop in their tracks, staring first at Yusuf and then, in much more astonishment, at something or someone behind him and the family, their postures stiffening automatically, not so much in response to a threat as because they cannot help the reaction.

" _I, abduce illos._ " Says a voice behind Yusuf, as calm and dispassionate as it is a bell tolling for death in a world that seems to have suddenly gone silent. It is an order, one that sends shivers down Yusuf's spine, goosebumps rising on his skin, every hair in his body standing up in screaming alarm.

He can _feel_ the threat in the man behind him. The invader turned traitor, and as he turns his head slowly, to look over his shoulder while keeping between the Knights and the family, he realizes that the invader is helping him. After how much harm-? Still. He is helping, now, to keep this family from the same fate that the rest of the city has suffered.

The man does not repeat himself, his gaze trained on the man beyond Yusuf and the family he is sheltering, staring at them as if he does not recognize them as humans anymore, more dispassionate and revolted, somehow at once, than he ever was looking at Yusuf as they tried to kill each other over and over again. There is a flame in those eyes but it is scalding in its coldness, nothing at all like the burning hatred Yusuf measured his own against on their battlefield.

He steps forward, his movements slow and measured, taking him past Yusuf and giving him a perfect shot first to his flank and then to his back as he walks towards the group of Knights, moving with a perfect economy of movements and the clear purpose of a man who has a job to do and do it he will.

Yusuf could strike, now. But he doesn't, something holding his hand still. And then the invader is between him and the Knights, and he wastes no more time. Doesn't spare him a word, either, walking back, ushering the family with him, and then turning to guide them down somewhere they can break the line of sight and he can get them out of this hell.

~

It is a harrowing process, the city burning down around them, drenched in the blood of its defenders and civilian population, sacked and desecrated by greedy, grasping hands dripping with innocent blood, holding weapons tainted by a bloodlust the likes of which seems to know no end.

Yet every time it seems as if they won't be able to make it out, every time they come across an obstacle that Yusuf won't be able to take care of without leaving his charges defenceless, the invader turned traitor turns up, his shield dripping more and more with blood as he uses it to stop the attacks his fellow invaders do not hesitate to commit to, nothing in his step or his swing to show tiredness or faltering. He is a wraith in the night, a dark shadow with a blood-stained white cross standing between Yusuf's charges and their death.

He keeps returning.

The unkillable enemy keeps reappearing to help him, and by now his robes are slashed in ways he knows would have made a mortal wound. Yusuf himself is bloody, wounded then unwounded, and the man keeps finding him. 

How many of his own people has this man killed, just for this family? Yusuf wonders which God would take him now. Though if they are both doomed to ever keep awakening from death, perhaps it matters not. They will see neither God any time soon. He ushers his charges away again, and even they are looking upon the Invader's unwary shoulders with awe.

  
" _Demonstravisti tui verum faciem._ " The invader tells a particularly loud Knight, his quiet voice cutting through the din and slashing the man's own obscenities at the knees, cutting them off and making them fall into silence as he cuts the man's head off and moves on to the next attacker seamlessly, his fight a never-ending reaping of the lives of those who dare turn to them with murder in their souls. " _Voco non milites Dei sed milites Luciferi et ei remitto._ "

The words send a shiver through Yusuf's soul. He understands them, the man says it in a tongue he speaks too, instead of just their own, and he watches him as he ushers them toward another attempt for safety, wondering if this _is_ a sign. If he is meant to find something different in the pale eyes of these Invaders, in this specific Invader.

He does not look back at Yusuf, nor at the family, does not offer a direction or suggestions. He is death coming to those who stand in their way and he only slows to a stop once he has seen them past the walls and around the tents the invaders set in front of the Jerusalem, using his shield to stop the arrows a couple of invaders decided to loose upon them once they were spotted.

His only concession to acknowledging them is to nod in the direction of a group of tethered horses that have been left with only a young, terrified-looking man to look after them. 

" _Equos capias et narra tui dominum nescio qui cepit aut ubi._ " The invader tells the boy, staring him down in a way that makes the body freeze on the spot, eyes trained on the blood drenched sword rather than on the man wielding it. 

" _Nisi agis, te occidam et tabe corpore quid accisum factum sciet._ " The invader adds but there is something in his tone that tells Yusuf he wouldn't kill the boy, no matter what he might be threatening or how serious he is sounding. It is an empty threat, unlik the violence leveled against his former allies within the city and in the outskirts of the camp.

Yusuf watches the boy, and when he seems to decide to perhaps never move again, he ushers the family onto the horses, helping them get situated. “I cannot come with you, I must see if there is anyone else I can save in there. Be careful, and ride as far as you can before you stop,” he murmurs to them in soft Arabic.

" _Shukran, shukran._ " The mother murmurs back, grabbing Yusuf's hands and pulling it to her lips to kiss the back of it, leaning down to kiss his forehead too, once and then twice. " _Shukran. Enna lillah wa enna elaihe Rajioun. Assalamu Alaikom warahmatu Allahi wa barakatuhu._ "

It is her and her children that they have escorted out, no man left to defend them but they, but she does not seem daunted by the task ahead of her, grabbing the reins of her children's horses after she presses one last kiss to Yusuf's forehead, with a repeat of her murmured blessing.

Yusuf does not smile, he cannot quite manage it, but he leans into the contacts, murmurs soft statements in return to her, in kind. Wishing them blessings and safety upon their escape. Steps back so they can ride off into the deep night, and hope they find no invaders on their way. That is all he can do for them now. Hope, and pray, for them. And wonder if there is anyone else left to save. 

He turns to the invader-turned-traitor (he needs a different name for this person, surely), and says nothing. Just a weight in his gaze, a question he does not know how to speak.  
  
The man looks back at him, solemnly, before turning back to stare at the burning, suffering city.

He has lost his helmet somewhere along the way and the fires lit up his profile. He looks like a Roman statue before the paint started chipping away, with dark hair the length of his chin and stubble on his jaw. 

His breath is steady and his eyes hold a terrible calm, a deep acceptance that is too turbulent to be serene but is also settled in a very dangerous way. The light makes them look like molten silver, dipped with greens and greys.

" _Eo primo._ " He says and starts walking, back towards the lost city, his sword at the ready.

Something shifts. In the air, in the earth, in his soul. He knows not what, nor whether his counterpart (that is what he is, isn't it?) feels it too. But he turns back toward the horror that his people wrought, and if he intends to help more of Yusuf's people, then he will not deny the offer. Where one soldier-whom-death-refuses may not be enough, perhaps two would. 

If there was anyone left to save. 

Yusuf does not focus too heavily on that thought. Cannot, lest it sweep him under and drown him.

_"Eamus_ " he answers in kind.

Later, perhaps years, maybe decades later, he comes to the realization that that axis-tilt, the world unsteadying around him, that was his faith shifting, from something beyond them all to something- someone - right in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This would not have gotten done without Drake, who carried me and this fic and whose Yusuf's pov routinely makes me weep and hurt in all the best of ways, the [Discord channel](https://discord.gg/kDJpjxx) who enabled and encouraged me and [historynut101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/historynut101/pseuds/historynut101) for most of the Latin, google search for the arabic, and [jack_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jack_R/pseuds/Jack_R) (who wrote one of the most amazing series of this fandom and you should totally check out) who came in at the last minute with the one phrase I was missing.
> 
> Translations will be added soon enough but I have to run off to work and I'll update with them from the phone on my way there.
> 
> Translations:  
>  _I, abduce illos._ : Go, lead them away (imperative)  
>  _Demonstravisti tui verum faciem._ : You have shown your true colours.  
>  _Voco non milites Dei sed milites Luciferi et ei remitto._ : I call you not soldiers of God but soldiers to Lucifer and I am sending you back to his side.  
>  _Equos capias et narra tui dominum nescio qui cepit aut ubi._ : You will let them take the horses and tell your master that you do not know who took them or to where.  
>  _Nisi agis, te occidam et tabe corpore quid accisum factum sciet._ : If you do not, I will kill you and he will know from your rotting corpse what happened.  
>  _Shukran, shukran. Shukran. Enna lillah wa enna elaihe Rajioun. Assalamu Alaikom warahmatu Allahi wa barakatuhu._ : Thank you, thank you. Thank you. To Allah we belong, and to him we will return [usually used when you hear someone died, or if you had a terrible lost (financial or personal)]. Peace be upon you and Allah’s mercy and blessings. [this is a full equivalent of the above mentioned greeting “Assalamu Alaikom”. If is considered to be more polite and more rewarding to use it  
>  _Eo primo._ : I go first  
>  _Eamus_ : Let us go.  
> Gotta run, love you all, bye!


End file.
